We call them Wolves
by Wandering and Wondering
Summary: This is based on one of the older, darker versions of the Little Red Riding Hood plot and is not meant for a children's bedtime story. I wrote this for english lit and lang Alevel and want to keep on writing. This is my first fanfiction so here goes...


We call them Wolves.

Once upon a time, in a village like any other, wherever it was, something occurred. A lesson was taught, but not learnt. And so the story unfolds its leaves. The quiet ones are always the ones to look out for. People often seem something they are not, so if you go down to the woods today, you'd better be cautious of the wolves you may meet along the way. They may seem such gentle creatures, but wolves are best avoided.

I've always been doted upon. It happened since I was young, I was the little girl with blonde curly hair and deep cobalt eyes, and people often said to me "you can swim in those eyes". I had a ready smile, and was always obliging. The village folk would ask me to do chores for them. They would ask me to deliver their bread and wine to a relative who lived far out of town, and since I was always taught to do as I was told and act courteously towards my neighbours I always obliged their every whim. It made me momentarily happy to please them and I liked being rewarded and praised after I had helped them out. It gave me a sense of purpose, I felt respected and cared for. I was acknowledged by all. I also had a cupboard full of gifts; they mark all the good deeds I have done. I saw these as my trophies. After one errand I was given a set of string pearls, I would have preferred the ruby ring of course, the one that I noticed on her finger, it would have suited me better. Still, I considered any errand for her after that to be the challenge that would finally procure me the ruby ring that I desired. It took a long time to get that ring. I would often visit her in the hope that she would donate it to me, and so one day, after she had been busy in the garden, I stopped by and saw the ring lying on the side; she had removed it to prevent it from being ruined. It had an oval cut ruby mounted in yellow gold that glistened irresistibly. She went to answer the door. I pocketed the ring. After that I didn't visit her anymore.

My grandmother was especially fond of me, and she made me a beautiful crimson coat made of velvet, with a drawstring hood that shielded my face. And since Mother could never afford the time or money to buy a coat like this it meant a lot to me that Grandmother put so much effort into it. It was the best thing she had made for me to date. Mother always said red was a sinful colour, not that it mattered, because there wasn't a church in our village. The people in my village then started calling me 'Little Red Riding Hood', which stuck since I was attached to my coat and I would never, ever leave my home without it. However, there were certain drawbacks to all this attention, I became their slave girl. They depended upon me. They loved me, and I hated them.

On this occasion, my mother had been baking bread all day, it was hot from the constant overheat and the smell was intoxicating, the scent of baking bread wafted around my head and into my senses. The smell pleased me. The warmth wrapped around me and engulfed me in pleasure like a sticky, sweet blanket. My Mother was wearing her crisp, white, lacy apron that had no creases in it because it was so thick with starch treatment. She finally turned to me, handed me a good sized warm loaf and a bottle of home made strawberry wine and instructed me to deliver them to my grandmother; she had recently come down with a sickness that prevented her from leaving her cottage, which was several miles away from us. Mother turned to me with her 'Stepford wife; apple pie' complexion and warned: "Above all, don't amuse yourself along the way!"

I tugged at the rope on my shield, pulling the armour closer to my body, and trawled through the woods alone. This was one of my most monotonous journeys, which got worse every time I made it. I cursed my Mother behind her back on every laborious step I took. She could have easily gone herself. But I thought, perhaps Grandmother will have a special treat for me this time, if not, I could guilt trick her into giving me one. The only way of passing the time was to imagine all the things I would rather be doing.

It took a long time walking through those woods by myself, but it was actually the shortcut that cut off two miles, and a steep hill! I hadn't even gone half the journey to grandmothers when I saw a man just standing, just watching me. He was standing by the ancient oak tree; the one scarred by lovers' inscriptions. His shadow stretched into the distance, thinning as it fled the sunlight, dagger like in the harsh sun. He was dressed in shabby clothes that I assumed were the work clothes of a farmer and it seemed to me that they had once been fashionable and well cared for, but covered in all that dirt he looked just like any other labourer. He gripped onto the branches of the tree with yellowed, broken fingernails. His matted hair was the darkest of browns, scruffy and out of place, yet his slightly weathered, tanned face looked youthful and alluring. His eyes were practically black and spilled his intensity over the rest of his face and drew me in further, burning into mine. He made me curious. When he noticed me looking he smirked at me, which made me blush and quickly avert my eyes away from his gaze, but not for long.

He approached me and asked me politely in his alluring wolfy drawl, "Good day. Where are you going?"

I thought it rude not to respond so I simply said, "I'm taking some goods for my grandmother. She's not well."

"Oh dear, perhaps I should go and visit her too, so I can give her my warm wishes." he said, "How far is her house from here?" He circled me. His quick, slick movement surprised me.

I quickly responded, "It's quite a way from here in the forest. Perhaps another hour depending on which route you take and how fast you walk."

He curiously questioned, "But where does she live?"

"Under the three big oak trees before the next village. You can tell it by the hazel bushes, you can't miss it." I willingly offered.

"What path are you taking, the path of needles or the path of pins?" he smoothly interrogated.

I bravely responded, "The path of needles."

He stopped pacing around me. Paused. Thought. And positively beamed. "All right, then I shall take the path of pins." Then we took separate paths.

I dawdled along the way, gathering the needles which had fallen from the trees, since it was such a long walk I didn't think it mattered if I was a little longer than I had originally planned on doing. I began to daydream about him. He had a nice voice. It beguiled me. I remembered his hungry stare going right through me and I felt it like an electric current surging through my body. His hands were rough but strong and were gripping at me rather than the tree. He was such a beautiful devil. He was awfully striking. Every time I thought of him my face flushed, my heart pounded, and a strange fluttering sensation came to the bottom of my abdomen and then upwards to behind my navel. Slowly my dark thoughts wandered until his true appearance slipped away into how I wanted to make him appear to be in my fantasies.

When I finally reached grandmother's house I was gasping for a drink, but I kept up a robust presentation by pulling myself together and then, finally, I smartly rapped on her wooden door.

I heard her call out, "Who is it?" her voice sounded rough and worn out, so I simply guessed that it was because of her illness, it had made her weak. I thought she would be extremely cheerful when she saw me, and what I had brought for her.

I said, "Its only me, Red Riding Hood. I've brought you something from mother to help get your strengths up."

"Pull the latch, I'm too ill to get out of bed." She said faintly.

I pulled the latch and went inside and announced, "Here I am Grandmother. Oh, by the way, Mother wants the basket back from my last visit. I've got some bread and strawberry wine for you."

At that moment, my Grandmother gave the rudest yawn I had ever heard. It wasn't something that she would have usually done so I felt slightly wary of her.

"It's getting late now so why don't you stay the night and you can take the basket home in the morning. Come to bed with me. You will be nice company."

I felt that that was an unusual comment, so I decided to forestall her with the request for a drink to sooth my parched throat.

My Grandmother then replied, "There's some fritters ready in the frying pan, and fresh blood orange juice in the cool box in the pantry."

I took a plate and glass tumbler from the Welsh Dresser and prepared my supper. The fritters looked strangely familiar, like ears, was that an earring in one of them? I took a bite and found it difficult to chew. It was very salty. I couldn't manage it all because they were too gristly. But to be polite I had a fair amount before I sipped from my glass. It was so salty, and strangely warm and thick. I couldn't drink any more than a mouthful because I gagged on the red substance. I got out a tissue from my coat pocket and discreetly spat the juice onto it, it looked quite similar to the blood rags I had seen my Mother burn monthly.

My Grandmother timely called out, "Have you finished?"

I mumbled "Yes,"

So she told me to come to bed. Then I took off my hooded coat and folded it up neatly and rested it on the kitchen chair.

"Where do you want me to put my cardigan Grandmother?"

"Throw it into the fire" came her rough reply "because I have run out of wood and coal." I did as I was told and then stood awkwardly in place, feeling my cheeks starting to burn again remembering the man in the woods.

"Darling," rasped my Grandmother, "It's still cold. Throw in the rest of your clothes."

One by one I took each item of my clothing off and threw it into the fire, until I was left with just my knickers.

"Shall I keep my knickers on in bed Grandmother? It's the only item I have left."

"Throw it into the fire my Child, you won't be needing them anymore." came the rough reply. It was getting chilly, I felt exposed in just my knickers so I quickly whipped them off and flung them on the fire with the rest of my burning cinders, leapt into bed and instinctively huddled up to the body lying beside me.

My Grandmother clutched onto my hand and it felt different. Instead of being soft and silky it was rough and covered in calluses.

I had to ask, "Why is your hand so rough, Grandmother?"

"It is part of my condition my dear."

My Grandmother then pressed my head to her chest. It was so thick with hair so I asked again, "Why are you so hairy, Grandmother?"

"It is part of my condition my dear."

My Grandmother then wrapped her strangely powerful legs around mine. I couldn't move.

"Why are you so strong, when you should be ill, Grandmother?"

"It is part of my condition my dear."

"What is you condition, Grandmother?"

I looked up at my Grandmother and remembered the man I had met in the woods. It was him. I could feel his rancid breath upon me and I trembled as his hand gripped my thigh and pulled me underneath him. His weight hurt. I struggled against my entrapment but couldn't move so I stopped trying. I was pinned down and he towered over me like a giant. He bit at my neck. There was a searing pain between my legs it felt like a knife was cutting my insides. I screamed aloud but he flung his hand against my throat, crushing my windpipe and cutting off my breath. My head felt light and there was a rushing sensation in my ears. My lips started to go numb and his pressure against my body felt like nothing anymore as I felt my body give way. I felt like I was watching from outside my body, my eyes drifted to my cloak on the chair, untouched, all that red, touched, still there, and then there was only blackness.


End file.
